This is part of a diary I’m keeping on this blog about long-distance running, which I’m calling The Run Diary. All pieces can be read here.

Silence in its most meaningful sense is not an absence of sound or distraction, but almost an immunity from it. People, sounds, objects, and even memories, are often harbingers of anxiety and temptation.

The ability to have such things in front of you, be aware of the mistakes they invite, yet somehow simply acknowledge them and continue moving forward without confrontation, is true silence. That silence is an inner strength that allows one to find an authentic peace and persistence.

When Steve Collins fought Chris Eubank, his eyes were closed and head tilted toward the canvas of the ring throughout the pageantry that typically commences a championship fight. He remained seated, the hood of his robe cloaked over his head, somewhat in the fashion of a Franciscan at vespers, while he and his opponent were introduced.

Eubank, as expected, showboated for the crowd, proudly and prominently displaying his adonis-like physique and flashing his cocksure stare all around the arena, gestures made to seem even more brazen by the fact that the crowd was clearly behind Collins. “Steve-O! Steve-O!” they chanted.

Collins remained seated, eyes closed, and head cast downward, not bothering to even acknowledge the cries of support let alone drink in those shouts of his name and strut for the crowd. The fight commentator pondered whether or not it was safe to be seated for that long before a fight.

Even as the chants of Steve-O continued, Collins is robotically proficient, remaining the more active fighter but refusing to remain in front of Eubank long enough for the Brit to counter meaningfully. Where the chants of the crowd and early successes of nailing Eubank, a previously undefeated and thought to be untouchable fighter, could easily invite recknlessness, Collins remains as attentive and steadfast in purpose as St. Antony in the desert.

Collins wins by fighting his fight. He wins by finding silence in all the distraction and temptation, remaining almost meditative in the midst of the violence in the ring. I would like to think that he was indeed deep in meditation, reminding himself of the plan that he brought to the ring and repeating it like a mantra. How brilliant it seemed to me that one could be so committed and immune from temptation. How genius that by making no rash moves, Collins executed a performance that was the stuff of legends.

***

I hadn’t run in Hamilton in over a year and wasn’t terribly excited to be back. I was there more out of the necessesity of getting my legs used to the notorious hills of the Around the Bay course. The group that gathered in the parking lot of LaSalle Park was large, an amalgam of Toronto and Hamilton runners.

I hadn’t seen the hills since the previous year and standing in that parking lot before we took off, they were really just memories. I remembered for a moment the last hill on North Shore Boulevard that leads on to Plains Road and just how overheated I was and how the gels I had taken for fuel were not settling right when I climbed that hill during the race in March of 2014. I remembered my legs feeling shackled during a training run the previous year and getting progressively slower the more I ran.

In the moments before we took off, I found myself silent, knowing that I was surrounded by other runners and would encounter many more along the route, all preparing themselves for the truly unique race that was Around the Bay, and that I might be tempted to keep up when I couldn’t. I knew that the hills were going to find themselves in front of me and that I could find myself daunted or tempted to attack them aggressively.

This is part of a diary I’m keeping on this blog about long-distance running, which I’m calling The Run Diary. All pieces can be read here.

Freezing in the lead-up to the start of the Scotiabank Toronto Waterfront Marathon. Image via Tribe Fitness.

“So, why, mortal men, do you pursue happiness outside yourselves, when it lies within? Error and ignorance derange you…as long as you are in command of yourself, you will possess what you would never wish to lose, and what Fortune can never withdraw from you.” -Boethius, Consolation of Philosophy

The marathon doesn’t truly get interesting until around the 35K mark. If you trained sensibly, there was never any question in your mind that you would make it to this point. Strength, form, pacing, and fuelling, all the external physical factors that make a runner, have carried you.

Suddenly you have only a short distance remaining, one that is almost laughable in its smallness to you who have made 30 kilometres a mere formality. Nonetheless, as if almost on cue, the entire dynamics of the race have changed. Looking around, you see that more and more runners have stopped to walk. You see that their form has become a bit more hunched and you know that yours has as well. The distance markers that were plotted throughout the course to mark the passing of each kilometre seem to take longer to appear.

Physically, you have reached your capacity. You trudge along constantly repeating the mantra, “Almost there. Just finish.” You might take a glance over your shoulder or to the other side of the course to see runners still completing the “out” of an “out and back” portion of the course. You, or at least I, wonder if I were in their position, with so much time already elapsed, with the the majority of runners having already crossed the finish line, and yet with so much distance and time to go, whether or not I would have the strength to continue.

The intangibles now propel you. In the course of your training, you’ve built character as well as fitness. You’ve become quite adept at suffering and have accepted discomfort as a constant companion. More importantly, you’ve learned not to quit in the face of these malevolent forces. You have grit. You have desires that are stronger than anything that may deter you.

If you shed tears along the way, if you look somewhat foolish, if failure feels imminent at points, that’s fine. Such is the price you pay for your ambition. We often find ourselves dangerously addicted to comfort because we are so fearful of these things. It is why perhaps we refrain from setting goals that are out of the ordinary because such aspirations mean a commitment to constant setbacks and failures. Indeed, you will shed what feels like a million tears and look foolish a million times before you experience one triumph.

1. Each morning, I board the 24 Victoria Park bus, which I take to Victoria Park station. At the station, I’ll take the westbound train to Bloor/Yonge station and then transfer lines to take the train southbound to Union. Alternatively, I may take the 95 York Mills bus to York Mills station and go straight down to Union.

All in all, it can take an hour. In the peak of morning rush hour, it can take even longer. At times, this can be blamed on traffic. Many times, in fact more and more, it has to do with mechanical failures on the train itself or perhaps signal issues. Often, it’s because busses take ages to show up and when they do, they may be so overcrowded that I have no choice but to wait for the next one. The same applies when waiting for a train.

Once I board, the experience does not improve much. Spending an extended amount of time in a claustrophobic environment is not a good way to start one’s day. Nor is standing on a platform that due to delays in trains arriving becomes so dangerously overcrowded that it is actually life threatening. There are places on a train where you are forced to stand during rush hour where there is nothing you can hold on to for safety. This is a reality for countless residents; unnecessarily long and unpleasant commutes that require multiple transfers.

I manage to get by because I am an able-bodied man in his 20s. Were I disabled or a parent trying to get a stroller across the city in the morning or evening rush hour, I couldn’t imagine how I’d survive. Many stations remain inaccessible and wait times have consequences that cause ripples into all aspects of our lives.

We are easily approaching the point, or perhaps have passed it, when there is more that is wrong with our transit than is right. If Toronto’s working class, its disabled, its low-income citizens, its students, and so many more, can’t rely on our public transit, then it has surely failed in its mission. With each trip I take on the TTC, I fear we are approaching that point.

2.

Transit has been talked about endlessly throughout this current election cycle. Every mayoral candidate has had their opportunity to share their vision, or lack thereof, for what transit in this city should look like. So too have most councillors. Much of the substance of the conversation, or again lack thereof, left me with a lingering question, namely, “WHEN WAS THE LAST TIME ANY OF THESE PEOPLE ACTUALLY TOOK PUBLIC TRANSIT IN THIS CITY?” Read the full post »

Even during the fall, when it remains pitch black until nearly seven o’clock in the morning, I still prefer to run in the very early hours. Schedule doesn’t always permit it, but my most enjoyable runs are those when my feet are the first to touch the sidewalk for that day.

I’m entirely unaccompanied save for the occasional vehicle, but there is never any need to share the sidewalk. The roads I run alongside, which will be swimming with traffic by the time I return home to shower, eat breakfast and leave the house again, are at this time empty. If I wanted to jump on the road and run right down the middle or even zig-zag, I could do so without worry.

I crave open space when I run. Just as much, I crave the absence of sound. In the city, the former is incredibly rare, the latter is impossible. Even before the sun rises, I hear occasional signs of life, perhaps a plane overhead or a vehicle taking off in the distance that I cannot see. These early morning runs, when I can hear my own breath, are the closest I come to any such conditions.

The open space for me is a reminder of the folklore that’s been built around running, a folklore no doubt based on historical evidence, but one that through generations of oral history and re-interpretation is no longer just plain history but scripture who those who pound the pavement; a testament that simple motions of putting one foot in front of the other, breathing rythmically, and swinging our arms naturally at our sides are not just mere recreation, but the essence of our very nature. It’s the folklore of our ancestors running into wide open planes to hunt their prey, of tribes in the Copper Canyons who run hundreds of kilometres at a time not as a matter of competition but as rituals of friendship.

In these very early hours, I look forward and run as my body feels like running. With an empty stretch of sidewalk before me, I push myself to a gruelling pace or trot comfortably. All that matters is that there is an open space before me that I’m running into it.

I trust my body to do what’s right, however fast or slow and for however long it feels like doing it. There are no other runners or pedestrians to share the road with. I don’t worry that I’m moving too slow in comparison to someone else or that I have to hold back to not inconvenience others. My mind is on nothing in particular. I don’t think about running as a matter of fitness, recreation, or even training at this point.

I’m running because it is perfectly natural to run into that open space. This is when I’m happiest that I run.

***

Standing at the starting line of the Collingwood half-marathon, I was elated that I was going to have that open space. The field was small with just under 300 runners gathered. The Blue Mountains were at our backs in the distance. The course was arranged in a rectangular pattern without fancy twists and turns. Other than a brief jaunt through the main street, we would mostly run alongside rolling expanses of farmland.

With such a small field, it would be easy to spend all twenty-one kilometres with a comfortable cushion around me, free to move as I pleased. Perhaps this is why I didn’t feel a hint of nervousness. There was no hype or pre-race festivities. Just a few hundred people gathered on an open road whose name I didn’t know. I agreed to this race only a few days before on suggestion from a friend, so there was no time for overanalysis.

This is part of a diary I’m keeping on this blog about long-distance running, which I’m calling The Run Diary. All pieces can be read here.

From an especially humid summer run. This was only 5k.

Joy is the only sustaining force in life. If you cannot find it in something you undertake, you are bound to fail.

I was coming down Avenue Road from St. Clair Avenue, about fifteen kilometres into the twenty planned for my Saturday group run. Though it was the downhill portion of the run, it was supposed to be the most gruelling and difficult, the final stretch of a long run after you’ve already climbed your hills, hit your peak for speed, and logged more miles than anyone should care to on a Saturday morning.

At this point, you’re just trying to get to the end, praying that your legs will hold up, that you’re not about to suffer the consequences of failing to hydrate or fuel properly. If it’s a group run, you’re praying that you won’t experience the dreaded bonk and have all those who were trailing you fly past while you fall to the back of the pack and waddle your way to the finish. When it comes to the long run, these last few kilometres are usually the least pleasant.

It was our custom to run at 9 am on Saturdays, but this week we moved our start time to an hour earlier. Doing so afforded crisp breezes throughout the route which ran across Lakeshore, up the Don Trail, and through Riverdale Park and its unforgiving Rocky-esque stairs that I climbed onto Sumach Street. From there it was through Wellesley Park and onto Rosedale Valley Road, which also presented a gradual climb onto Yonge Street. Then it was up the not so gradual climb on Yonge to St. Clair, the latter of which we crossed to Avenue Road, where we started this story, to come south.

This is part of a diary I’m keeping on this blog about long-distance running, which I’m calling The Run Diary. All pieces can be read here. The group I run with is called Tribe Fitness and they are absolutely incredible. Check out their Facebook page and find them on Twitter @Tribe_Fitness.

Come run with Tribe!

On the day I ran the Goodlife Half-Marathon in Toronto, I was walking back to a friend and fellow runner’s car to head home for the day. By this point, we had already met with some other runners and friends to celebrate crossing the finish line with brunch. We walked along Lakeshore where the full marathon was still in progress, well into its later stages. Runners came east for finishing times past the four hour mark to now empty sidewalks that were once filled with spectators who saw the winners cross the finish line two hours previously.

This is the most inspiring part of any marathon. Certainly, it’s nice to see elite runners sustaining superhuman speeds and perfect form hitting the finish with what looks like no effort at all. There’s a little something extra, however, in witnessing the quiet little triumph of those who had the courage to stay on their feet for longer than any normal person would care to early on a Sunday morning.

For one thing, among this group, there’s diversity. Elite runners all look essentially the same, at least in terms of body type. Their stories are often similar as well. They have sponsors and follow a strict training routine that lends itself to high performance running. A few nations now dominate the sport.

Those who fight their way to the finish are a wonderful rainbow of body types, age groups, and abilities. Most had a training plan, but they also had families and careers that got in the way of that training plan, so their journey to the finish line became its own unique path riddled with detours. Among this group, grandparents are running alongside college students. Parents jog along while pushing strollers. Disabled runners share the road with those who at first glance don’t look much like athletes. They’re here, though, so they are.

In my time becoming immersed in Toronto’s running community, having the opportunity to share stories with those who are not at any major race to win, but to face down a monumental challenge and say “I did it,” I’ve learned that every maniac running around the block possesses a brand of determination that goes far beyond meeting a physical challenge. It’s not just that they ran 26.2 or 13.1 miles and did so by pounding the pavement day in and day out. It’s that before they hit the pavement, a significant amount of these late finishers hit rock bottom.

Stand at the finish line of any major marathon past the four hour mark and what you’re seeing is a parade of recovering addicts and alcoholics, victims of severe injuries, runners who were once at risk of death before they hit thirty, survivors of childhood abuse, and representatives from every point along the bipolar spectrum.

This is part of a diary I’m keeping on this blog about long-distance running, which I’m calling The Run Diary. All pieces can be read here. The group I run with is called Tribe Fitness and they are absolutely incredible. Check out their Facebook page.

My Toronto Goodlife Half-Marathon medal.

“Once this light changes, you’re going to go as hard as you can over the bridge until you hit the next light.”

“Okay,” I answered.

We were coming south on Spadina Avenue approaching Fort York, which was in and around the end of our route. We had started with a large group right where we were to end, but the two of us were now ahead by a considerable margin.

It’s not that we were consciously trying to finish our planned five kilometres faster than the rest of the group. Running groups all have a tendency to break into clusters, each maintaining a pace that’s comfortable for those in it.

I was running with a member of the group known to be notoriously fast. Even on this particular evening, when he was clearly pulling back, his pace was still frantic, knocking off a kilometre in well under five minutes at peak.

Where many runners welcome stoplights as an opportunity for a quick breather and drink of water, they are for him an inconvenience. When we were as far as fifty yards back from a crosswalk that began to count down to signal “STOP” to pedestrians, he’d say, “There’s ten seconds left on that light. We can make it!”

The light changed and we were off, as hard as we could go. With each second, he moved ahead of me, but I kept my sprint up and refused to stop until we hit the next light. I’d catch him there and we’d finish our run together.

Throughout the whole run, drenched in rain and generally exhausted from trying to keep up, I was determined that I wouldn’t fall behind. I wasn’t going to reward myself with a casual run. I was going to push with everything I had and prove that I was capable of keeping up.

We hit the next light and finished the final stretch of our run together.

***

Four days later, I stood at the start line for the Toronto Goodlife Half-Marathon. I was tired again. Work was demanding that week. I had come down with something of a cough and was hacking away even at the start line. I had previously pledged that I would complete the distance in under two hours. Given the circumstances, I began walking back on that goal to others in the days leading up to the race, though all I was really doing was trying to reconcile myself to the idea that I might not hit my target.

This is part of a diary I’m keeping on this blog about long-distance running, which I’m calling The Run Diary. All pieces can be read here. The group I run with is called Tribe Fitness and they are absolutely incredible. Check out their Facebook page.

My Around the Bay shoes.

1. You Got This

The night before the 2014 Around the Bay Road Race (ATB), which would be my first time running this race and covering a distance of thirty kilometres, I laced the timing chip to my shoe. Unlike other races, where your chip is attached to the bib that you pin to your shirt, ATB provides a chip through which you weave your laces. This requires that you unlace your shoes, place the chip flat on the throat of your shoe, and relace the shoe, running the laces through the chip.

I noticed that my shoes were worn down. Holes were visible in the fabric near the toe and around the sides. This wasn’t a major issue. The sole of both shoes remained firmly attached, but showed signs of wear and tear. Because I’m a writer, however, everything is a symbol of something and an invitation to reflection on something else.

I never counted the distance these shoes covered, but however many miles it’s been since I first laced them up, that distance includes navigating the Louvre and the halls of Versailles, roaming the grounds of Westminster Abbey, and climbing to the top of the Belfry in Bruges. They also included my first 10K race, my first half-marathon, and as of this writing, the 2014 ATB.

Truth be told, they had overstayed their welcome and would need to be replaced after ATB. I thought about how they survived training right through one of the harshest winters I’d known in my lifetime and figured that like a shopworn fighter, they would give me one more run.

I wove the chip into the right shoe and sent a picture to a friend to ask if I had done it right. I had an extreme case of apprehension that I would do it wrong and somehow my time wouldn’t register at the race. Then I would be considered as not having completed it after months of training and dragging my sorry ass up Valley Inn Hill. She said it was fine.

This type of anxiety is essentially part of my ritual before any event for which I’d long been awaiting. I contemplate all the things that might spoil the occasion. As we stood in the First Ontario Centre the next morning before making our way to the start line, I pondered trivialities out loud. Should I tuck my shirt in for the race? Am I wearing enough layers? Are these socks good? Do I have enough fuel? As if I could change any of these things at this point. With calm and compassion rather than the backhand slap that I probably deserved for all this neuroticism, my fellow runners all affirmed, “You’re fine. You got this. You’re going to do great.”

I suppose this anxiety can’t help but be present, but one thing that I’ve come to adore about running is that it vanishes immediately as I take off. As I run, imperfections never spoil the journey. A little cramping, soreness, or overheating are par for the course and I always find a way to continue. If I’m wearing a bit too much clothing, perhaps a hat or pair of gloves that becomes unnecessary, I tuck them into my fuel belt and continue. I never find this the least bit inconvenient. If I’m running, the desire to continue is so much more powerful than any minor imperfection. Discomfort is something I have learned to power through.

2014 marks twenty-six years on this planet for me. As I’ve done for the past two years, I’m once again taking the opportunity to look back at the people, events, ideas, and experiences that have defined me. At 24, I listed 24 things I learned in 24 years and for 25, I reflected on 25 things for which I was grateful (part one and part two). For 26, I’m running through 26 pieces of unsolicited advice that I feel make for a richer life. Make of them what you will. Here we go…

1. If you have the opportunity to grow your own vegetables or seasonings, even just a few tomatoes, do so.

2. Watch the Big Lebowski.

3. If you’re worried that others look down on you for whatever reason, whether it’s your career path, lifestyle choices, or politics, just remember that most people are too damned self absorbed to really care what you do or what you think. In fact, when they asked you about any of these things, they probably didn’t even listen to your response.

4. Read the poetry of Hart Crane.

5. Read the poetry of WH Auden.

6. Listen to the Smiths while reading the poetry of Hart Crane or WH Auden.

7. Specifically for my fellow Torontonians, your city is bigger than your neighbourhood. I understand that our less than stellar transit makes it difficult, but you have to put in the effort to explore all of Toronto. You need to soak up the culture on Queen West and stroll the waterfront, but you also need to bike Rouge Park, see Shakespeare in High Park, and head north of the 401, which is where the best food in the city can be found.

8. Once a week, call up a friend. Pick a coffeshop that you’ve never visited or haven’t visited in a while and go there. Sit across from your friend, or around the table with a few friends, and have a conversation over coffee.

9. Get a public library card and use it.

10. Should you ever find yourself in Paris, you may go to the top of the Eiffel Tower and take pictures. I understand that this is practically mandatory. In addition, however, climb the steps of the Pantheon and Sacre Coeur and take pictures from the top of both places.

This is part of a diary I’m keeping on this blog about long-distance running, which I’m calling The Run Diary. All pieces can be read here. The group I run with is called Tribe Fitness and they are absolutely incredible. Check out their Facebook page.

From the Tribe Fitness Facebook page.

It's a paradox of long distance running that while it shows you that your body is capable of much more than you initially thought, you'll also find your limits. Common amongst almost all runners that I've met is a fierce resentment of these limitations and immediate urge to transcend them. They need to run the same hill again tomorrow. They need to immediately register for their next 10K and shatter their personal best.

I can't say that all runners are “type-A” personalities who are ambitious to a fault, but they certainly tend to be self-critical.

Immediately after every run, I briefly lapse into this type of thinking. It's not entirely a bad thing. Looking ahead and setting goals is vital. Outlining a plan for achieving those goals can be tedious, but it's necessary. If overdone, however, it can also suck the energy and enjoyment out of anything. It's a habit of mine that I've often employed professionally, personally, and academically; immediately jumping ahead of the moment to determine what I did wrong and what I'll do better next time.

It's ridiculous to exert so much pressure upon yourself when you're an amateur runner. You as an amateur, after all, have much to celebrate. You made the effort to make fitness a priority in the midst of your day to day schedule. You endured injuries and setbacks on your way to milestone after milestone. You also endured chaffing, and that's a heroic struggle.

***

Five of us gathered at Canoe Landing Park on a Saturday morning. It was the weekend before the Around the Bay 30K Road Race in Hamilton, so we were well into our tapering period, the time to ease off intense training before competition. Our planned route was simple. Fourty-five minutes westbound on the Martin Goodman Trail on Lake Shore Boulevard before turning around and following the trail back.

It was windy as hell, so we began our run going west on King Street. Snow no longer covered the sidewalks, though we did slow down in spots due to ice. King Street is relatively flat and proved a welcome respite from our previous Saturday runs, which were dominated by hills.